Parapraxis
by Call Me Bambi
Summary: Five times Harry witnesses a Freudian slip over his years at Hogwarts, and twice he makes one. A light-hearted, fun little one-shot featuring some Snarry. Rated T for safety.


Hello, Readers :)  
So, I thought up this little fic whilst on my daily run, and it stuck with me until I wrote it down. I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: Five times Harry witnesses a Freudian slip, and twice he makes one. A light-hearted, fun little one-shot featuring some Snarry.  
Warnings: Implied M/M relationships, and cringey "oh my god, I just ended a call with my boss by saying 'love you, bye'" type feels.

* * *

###

* * *

Madam Hooch gathered the four quidditch teams around her, fierce yellow eyes darting to anyone who so much as dared think about starting a fight.

"Now, all of you, you're hear for one reason, so listen up and pay attention. I do not want a repeat of last year; I want all matches, from training, to friendlies, to playing for the Quidditch Cup, to be played nice and fair. There will be no cheating or sabotaging, and definitely no illegal magic use. Do you understand?"

A chorus of mumbled "Yes, Madam Hooch" resounded from the large group, their sincerity undercut by the older students shooting glares at their long-term rivals and making not so subtle hand gestures. Harry Potter, Gryffindor Seeker for his second year, took a small step towards his Slytherin counterpart, a new player who was replacing Terence Higgs.

"What will you do now, Malfoy?" Harry whispered lowly out of the corner of his mouth, eyes still on the eagle-eyed Professor, "Hooch'll be paying close attention this year; you don't stand a chance in a clean game."

"I'll wipe the floor with you, Scarhead! I was flying before I could walk, you'll be the one eating dirt," Draco hissed back, but wasn't quite quiet enough.

"Malfoy!" The harsh Professor whirled on him in a swish of sharp robes and scowling features, "You will be a good sportsman. Healthy competition is expected and encouraged, but you will be civil and professional."

"Yes, Father." Draco's eyes snapped up, wide and mortified, "I mean, yes, fair weather today, isn't it, Madam Hooch? Great for flying."

His quick save wasn't smooth enough and he was not spared from the onslaught of laughs and jeers that erupted around him. He drew his shoulders back, standing tall with his chin pointed, giving an air of confident indifference. It didn't work, and for the rest of the meeting members from all teams answered all his questions and queries with "Yes, Father".

###

Harry squared his shoulders, taking up a strong, defensive pose, light on his feet and arms confidently raised. He pointed his wand at the wooden practice dummy and set his gaze upon the target in the middle of its chest.

" _Glacius!_ " He shouted clearly. He watched in awe as gusts of freezing air erupted from his wand and enveloped the dummy, shrouding it in a thick layer of ice.

Remus Lupin, the current defence against the dark arts professor, walked over from where he had been directing Neville. He rubbed at his arms, giving an over the top shiver as he neared, "Well done, Harry! I can feel the cold from your spell from here, that was one strong freezing charm."

"Thanks!" Harry smiled cheerily, his posture becoming loose and relaxed.

"But in the real world, you might not be lucky enough to have such a docile enemy," Remus pointed his own wand at Harry's dummy, banishing the ice. Another spell later and the wooden figure became animated, moving at a moderate pace around a fifty-foot square radius, "Try hitting it now. I think you have the makings of a great defensive wizard, so you should try and develop your skills in more realistic scenarios. I know you have the potential, speed, and reflexes to cast spells quickly, accurately, and in rapid succession, you just need to practice."

"Sure!" Harry chirped, never one to back down from a challenge, especially when the challenge offered valuable experience. He knew that, being who he was, he needed to get good at battling opponents. It could be the difference between life and death for him, if history was anything to go by.

He slipped back into his defensive position but stayed light on his toes, moving with a grace he didn't normally possess in his day to day life. He darted and lunged, ducking and diving with smooth, easy motions as he repeatedly hit the target dead in the centre. He grew quicker and quicker with recasting the spell after every time Remus banished the ice.

Remus watched in stunned amazement as Harry all but stalked his prey, his grin sharp and feral and looking so much like the one James used to wear when he'd pull off a dangerous stunt in Quidditch. He called over the rest of the class to observe. He easily multitasked, discussing good techniques, theoretical underpinnings, and answering questions all whilst his wand never stopped making the task more difficult for Harry. He sped the dummy up before adding a second and third. When Harry efficiently took down his multiple opponents he led the class in a round of applause.

"I'm proud of you, princess!" The man smacked a hand over his mouth, the colour draining from his face as the class fell deathly silent, "I mean Harry. Sorry. You looked so much like James, I…slip of the tongue."

The crowd of third year students broke into raucous laughter and a chant of "Princess Potter" soon picked up. Harry's face turned bright red and he crossed his arms, looking at Remus with a strange mix of curiosity and sulkiness.

"James? You called my father 'Princess'?"

Remus just shook his head with a secretive smirk and turned on his heel. He walked away, ignoring the shrieks of "Lupin!" behind him.

###

Ginny sat down in a flurry of flying red hair and fury. The group already present at the Gryffindor table let their conversations die off, being well aware of the dangers of annoying the fiery female Weasley.

"Hey, Gin. Something troubling you?" Harry asked bravely.

"No, I'm just questioning the claim that Dumbledore is the wisest wizard of all time, that's all. What kind of genius decides it's a good idea to let thirteen-year olds make life changing academic decisions? Bloody care of magical creatures!"

The fourth years around her offered winces and stiff, sympathetic smiles; most of them regretted at least one of the subjects they'd chosen for their electives. Ron reached across the table, patting her on the head before returning to his meal. "What happened?" He mumbled out around a mouthful of food.

"Hagrid was off dealing with something in the Forbidden Forest, so Kettleburn agreed to step out of retirement for a few days to cover his classes."

Ron frowned, confused, "Yeah, we had him yesterday. Got some screws loose, but he seems alright. He taught Bill, Charlie, and George, and they all think he's great."

"That's the problem!" She said, clearly irritated, "He taught them all for _years!_ So, when he wanted my attention, he kept calling me by all _their_ names! He never once called me Ginny. Do I look like a bloke to you?"

"Well…"

"I will murder you in your sleep and throw your body to the mermaids if you finish that sentence, Ronald."

###

Harry yawned loudly as he slumped in his seat beside Ron's hospital bed. The redhead was deep in sleep, snoring loudly. He had hoped that maybe, just this once, they would make it through the year without one of the Golden Trio ending up in the Hospital Wing for an extended stay. But a poisoned bottle of mead in Slughorn's office had dashed his hopes spectacularly.

Ron muttered in his sleep before letting out a string of muffled curses, and blue eyes slowly blinked open. He stared around the bright white room blearily before attempting to sit up. He winced, clutching a hand to his head and fell back onto the pillow with a groan.

"Oh good, you're awake." Madam Pomfrey bustled in, wand out and casting a quick sequence of spells as she clucked and fretted over him, "Honestly, you boys, you're going to be the death of me. And Horace giving you mead, in school! That man has no responsibility. I'm just glad it's not Harry for once. Oh, I do wish you two would take better care of yourselves, I can only patch you up so many times."

"Sorry, Mum." Ron looked up at her sheepishly, face reddening from the scolding. It took a moment in his dazed state to realise what he'd said. His blush deepened, spreading to the tips of his ears, "Madam! I meant Madam!"

The medi-witch just smiled warmly, "You're not the first, don't worry. Now, you get some rest. I'll be back later, dear." She left the room in a flourish of neatly pressed white robes.

Harry giggled quietly behind his hand but burst into loud laughter as soon as Madam Pomfrey was out of earshot.

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?" Ron groaned, thunking his forehead with the heel of his palm when Harry shook his head through his laughter, "Just don't tell anyone, alright?"

"I won't, mate, don't you worry."

And yet, from that moment on, whenever Ron had visitors to his hospital bed, not one person would address him as anything other than 'Ickle Ronniekins'.

###

It was a month after the Final Battle of Hogwarts and the grounds were swarming with volunteers all working together to repair the damage. It was slow going and arduous but, after what they had all been through, the tasks were getting done without a single ounce of complaint or laziness. Bubbles of cheer and laughter could often be heard bouncing off the stone walls from somewhere within the castle and quite a few unexpected friendships had formed.

Neville was amongst the volunteers and today was working tirelessly at the side of Minerva McGonagall. The once shy boy had grown a lot under the brutal regime that had been the previous year at Hogwarts, and he was able to carry an easy conversation with his old head of house with a quiet confidence and warm smile. They talked about happy topics and memories, keeping the air light as they levitated huge piles of rubble away from the castle and towards a growing pile that was to be recycled into new building materials.

McGonagall fell quiet for a moment, her stern face taking on a more serious light, "Not to drag up painful memories, but I need to say this, Neville," She aimed her wand, taking her time to choose her words as she slowly raised the huge weight, "You were excellent on that day. You showed true courage. I am incredibly proud of you, and I know your parents would be, too."

"Thanks, Gran." The tall, muscled teen seemed to shrink in a matter of seconds, reduced back to a small, quivering first year under the weight of the withering stare McGonagall landed on him, "Err…I didn't…I err, I'm sorry, McGonagall."

The professor looked at him with a blank, unreadable face. Without uttering a word, she levitated her pile of rubble above Neville's and broke the spell, sending it crashing down on top. She turned and walked away, not once looking back.

Neville shouted after her, but it was futile. His legs almost gave out under the sudden strain of the load and he grunted at the effort it took to stop it from crashing down. He managed to call out over his shoulder between pants.

"Harry! Get your scrawny arse over here and help me! And stop laughing!"

###

Severus Snape had been under intensive medical care after the Final Battle. He had received the shock of his life when, after recovering from Nagini's poison, he had walked out of St Mungo's a free man. He had discovered that he had been pardoned of all his crimes once his role as a double agent had been exposed to the world. Testimonies from Albus Dumbledore's portrait and Harry Potter had also gone a long way in clearing his name. He had found out that the teen had swallowed his hatred of the media and the Ministry to fight relentlessly on his behalf, and had even managed to get him recognised as a war hero. The boy had presented the order of Merlin to him himself, handing over the ugly, gaudy thing with a lopsided grin.

Since then, he had stepped down from his position as headmaster with a great sense of relief, more than happy to let McGonagall take over, knowing she would do a much better job than he ever could. He had, however, accepted her offer to resume his role as Potions Master, under a few conditions and amendments to his contract. She had granted him more freedom and resources, allowing him to spend his free time and the school holidays pursuing his true interests. He had already published several experimental papers and was currently working on writing a much-needed new textbook for the Hogwarts curriculum. He had plans to travel to Africa over the summer with his lover in a hunt for rare and potentially undiscovered ingredients.

After the war, the chance to repeat a year was offered to the entire student body. It was decided that those who had missed out on their last year of education, or those who wanted the chance to repeat it in a better, safer environment, would be invited back to form a temporary eighth year. The majority had gladly accepted the offer.

And so now the eighth years and Potions Master were together in the cloying, hot air of the dungeons as cauldrons bubbled and students chattered animatedly. Severus had grown more relaxed in his role as an educator; his life no longer depended on him presenting as the perfect Death Eater, and he had grown tired and uncaring of his reputation, using the aftermath of the battle as good an excuse as any to reinvent himself. He had quite literally been given a second chance at life, and he would be foolish to throw that away. As long as the students got the work done to an acceptable standard he was mostly indifferent to their antics, especially his eighth years. They were all treated with almost equal status as the professors, and most were on first name basis with the staff. The younger years had even taken to addressing most of them as Sir or Madam out of gratitude for all they had done to protect them during the previous school year, and respect after hearing the tales of the fearless young soldiers that had saved wizarding Britain.

He walked around the classroom giving soft comments here and there before stopping in front of Harry's desk. He tilted his head slightly, leaning forward to peer over the rim of the cauldron into the murky liquid. Whilst the boy had adequate enough grades in potions to get into the advanced class, he was far from highly skilled at the subject.

"Make your stirs more exaggerated, Harry," He said with a small frown. His eyes flicked up, meeting ones that were somehow still impossible green even through a barrier of lightly fogged up glasses, "Grip the rod with firm hands. Smoother, larger movements. That's it. Keep your wrists strong but flexible as you push and pull."

"Yes, Daddy," Harry let out on a breath, mind focused entirely on the silky words and their instructions. He looked up when Severus fell silent, surprised to see half the class gaping at him and the other half whispering furiously, "What? Is there something on my face?"

"You…mate, you just called Snape…'Daddy'." Ron managed to choke out from his station next to Harry's.

Harry's eyes grew petrified and embarrassment flushed his cheeks a bright red. He felt like his body had been set on fire, and he wished for the ground to swallow him whole, "I…I did? Freudian slip, happens to the best of us." He plastered on a dopey grin, attempting to laugh it off.

"Yeah, just not to you, and definitely not with Snape," Ron finally cracked, large peals of laughter escaping the red head, "That's bloody hilarious mate, the fumes must really be getting to you. He doesn't even look anything like your dad."

"Ha, yeah, my brain must have just seen black hair and then ceased to function. I think I can feel it sloshing around, melted by the heat," He gave his head a playful little shake and giggled, deeply grateful the class were all laughing and joking, good naturedly mocking and teasing him. He turned back to his professor, smile dropping as he peered up at him meekly from under long black lashes, "Sorry, Severus."

Severus had one neat black eyebrow perfectly arched and pale lips were pressed into a hard line, "You might be eighteen and some sort of celebrity, but don't think for one second that excuses you from detention. See you at eight o'clock."

###

Harry stood outside the potions classroom at five to eight, perfecting his look of nervous distress. He turned his feet in slightly, ducked his head, and worried his plump bottom lip between his teeth. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt with one hand and raised the other in a fist, rapping lightly on the wood.

The door swung open and he had to look up to see Severus's face. He hadn't expected him to be that close, standing elegant yet relaxed in the entrance. He was leaning against the doorframe with one outstretched arm, the hand of the other planted on a jutted hip. Severus had taken off his teaching robes and wore the billowing black undershirt tucked into fitted dress pants that perfectly accentuated long, slender legs. His hair was unslicked, falling in soft dark curtain around his pale face. He waited expectantly, not bothering to greet Harry.

"I'm here for my detention, Severus."

Severus stared down his nose at him, unimpressed, "That's not my name."

Harry felt the nervous act leaving him in waves, replaced by cocky boldness. He straightened his back, meeting Severus's gaze directly with a coy smile and flashing eyes. He ducked under the Professor's arm and put a swing in his hips as he headed over to the teacher's desk. He turned, falling gracefully into the large, antique, mahogany and leather chair, pleased to see dark eyes following his every movement.

"I'm sorry, another Freudian slip. I'm here for my detention, Daddy."

* * *

###

* * *

The End

Happy Reading,  
Love,  
Bambi x


End file.
